


Who We Are

by Glyphron



Category: Dragon Age II, Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Action & Adventure, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glyphron/pseuds/Glyphron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A two part story depicting the views of Fenris as a wolf, and Hawke as a bird of prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who We Are

It felt akin to a chilling caress from the moon itself, the magic as it reacted to night's approach. By this alone was he made sharply aware of it's coming no matter where he found himself at day's end. Then would rise the misery of anticipating the moon's arrival, a sorrow wallowed in every evening at dusk. There was but one reprieve to the weariness of its great power. A faint flicker hope, just enough to keep his agony in silence. Hope that, in the exchange of time drawing near, there would again be a brief instant to look upon her. Perhaps, to even call her name and see her eyes light at the sound of his voice.

He had turned his own eyes to study her as she rested, talons tethered, to a fallen branch beside him. These sought after moments he wished to experience were rather rare, but strong within his memory as each came and went. They kept him driven onward, even sane. Never letting him fall into the deepest dark of surrender inside of himself. Ideally, they kept the pair firmly held together even while forced apart.

Gently preening the soft feathers on the underside of her left wing, the waning daylight tinged her white breast gold and mingled with the mottled silver of her back, setting her crimson tail ablaze altogether in its intensity. Beneath the shadowed cowl of that wing, one pale sterling eye peered in his direction, watching him carefully. Somehow, her beauty managed to impress him still, as prominent now as before. He reached to stroke the edge of her other wing, drawing her face from its sheltered work. She focused on him, attentive and awaiting a possible command. When it became clear that he required nothing of her, her gaze turned away and she allowed her eyes to slip closed in contentment. Until his touch ceased as he came to feel the urgency of how little time remained before they would reach the transition.

Returning his attention to the parchment placed atop the book in his lap, he took up the quill again and hurriedly scrawled the remainder of his thoughts upon it. His messages nearly always began the same and the weight of his desires to communicate with her would pressure him to find any topic available to discuss following that greeting.

********

I hope the evening finds you well Hawke. The day has been long, silent save for the usual flurry of life within these wilds. We will be nearing the next town soon. I cannot say that I am not concerned, as always, of the possible danger that lies ahead. As it is now, I doubt either of us could do much if Templars caught onto us. With one of us always trapped within the effects of this dark magic, we stand little chance of putting up a considerable fight. I know I say this often, but please, be careful Hawke.

Despite the possible threat, I imagine you look forward to resting in a proper bed and eating a proper meal. I have to admit that I am. Perhaps, if all goes well, we will be able to earn a little coin during our stay. It would do us well to visit a blacksmith. 

Regarding more personal matters.... In your previous letter you asked something of me. You asked me to describe the sun for you. You.... You told me you had forgotten what it looks like through your own eyes. As I have pondered my answer I've come to realize that I understand what you mean. Our lives are vastly different than they were before. Sometimes, it is difficult to recall how things used to be. The sun.... The sun is a radiant source of golden hues as always. It is warm and pleasant as it shines throughout the day, casting shadows cool and deep upon the ground. And I.... I.... despise it.... As I do the moon.... As I do this curse....

I apologize. That does not help matters. You asked me to describe what you cannot remember, not to whine about my discomfort. The sun is everything beautiful you can imagine Hawke. One day, you shall see it again. You will walk into it's light without resignation towards becoming something other than you are. I swear it. I hope that will suffice for now.

Always, I remain at your side.

*******

The grays of twilight began to pool around them sending a ritualistic shiver up the length of his spine. In their journey through the forest he had brought them far, making decent progress in this fading day. Yet, as has become his usual rhythm, all accomplishments made within the sun's light are lost to his enforced focus on the passage of time. He repetitively assures himself he shall endure. Endeavoring to bide his time and search for the keys to their release and growing increasingly more desperate. She is a strong spirited woman but, her written replies have become tainted by sadness. He fears what fate may befall her if she is kept, locked, within this cursed cycle for much longer.

Hastily slipping his scribbled note between the book's worn cover and its tattered pages, he stashes the quill in a nearby pack. Then proceeds to unbind his charge from her perch allowing her to step down onto the ground beneath. He remains kneeling close to her, discouraging any urge she may bear to take flight. His patience only holds for mere moments before the inevitable descends upon them. Green irises shift within his skull into a design reminiscent of what his body will soon become. Still he watches her, at the ready to steal a glance. 

Unlike the glow of her morning transformation, her enchanting change is imbued with silver by the faint hint of moonlight as is his own. It overtakes her and the bird is gone, replaced by a woman as pale as the moon's embrace. She crouches placidly in the dust with him as she drinks in the details of his image. Looking to her his heart thundering with excitement, he reaches forth his hand to caress the edge her smooth face. This night it is her who speaks to him, calling him by name. The only word to escape her lips before his own form is taken by change, his touch failing to make it to its destination.

"Fenris...."

His ears erect at the sound she creates sending a vibration across his back to his tail which thrashes in joy. Her gentle fingers extend towards him and he expresses his embedded adoration with soft bathing from his tongue, breathing in her fine scent as he nuzzles. He knows her, she is a friend. Her sound is 'Hawke', the noise used by other beings to refer to her. And, she knows the sound by which to cry unto him in turn. This strangely beautiful creature belongs to him and he keeps her as he knows is his right alone. Among the smells of her identity linger traces of weariness. 

She presses her back against the nearby oak, sinking completely to the ground, showing her exhaustion outright. Her firm but soft hands entrap the book, cracking open its cover to skim the treasured note left for her. As she thinks on her reply, her eyes close and she falls into quiet slumber. He watches her keenly as she slips into peaceful rest, laying against her to warm her. When he is certain she is comfortably dreaming of things he can only imagine, he leaves her to wander the area, nose to the dust. Utmost alert, he patrols the surrounding wilderness for threats to what is his.

His senses tell him they are on the fringes of another's territory, taking notice of how far their voices sound as they sing to the stars of their superiority over it. He does not join them in their hymn, he is an outsider. As he moves, he keeps one ear tentatively in the direction of their harmonies, leaving no traces of his scent near their grounds. He is wary of drawing any attention to himself, holding no interest in joining them or trying to court some of their females with which he could create his own legion. The mistress he is in the process of guarding is his mate, he does not need another. It did not matter that she is an animal entirely different than himself, his instincts whisper their bond is strong and he does not question what they tell. 

Following a route to circle the thicket she shelters in, he takes to hunting when her den is proven secure. There is a singular advantage to tracking beneath the veil of a darkened sky. The animals of the woodland were bedded down removing both competition and the need for subordinate allies. This eased the burden of being a lone wolf attempting to provide for both his 'Hawke' and himself as it was now possible to find a frail fawn without the risk of it spying him and bounding away before he reached it. It was possible to trace a hare's scent to its nest, digging up the rabbit's burrow, ergo forcing it to flee from the dwelling's safety to corner it. It was even possible to scavenge another's kill without such daunting risk of becoming caught and dealt with.

His fervent breathing reveals the air was tainted with the lingering vibrance of an elk's calf who had stepped through the trees beside its mother not long ago. The trail left in its wake indicates it suffered from weakness as he follows, but the path ends far beyond his reach across the border he dares not invade. Failure stings his pride as he leaves the chase in abandonment. A pain expressed with soft whines as he seeks other prey. His complaints fade hastily into silence as he becomes aware of another bold trace left behind for him to stalk. The markings of a rabbit, made as it furiously dashed for its sheltered home. He shadows them to their end, eager to capture the creature within.

He ensures his assault is heard as his long dark claws scrape the dirt, tearing apart the entrance. Progress into the tunnel is slow, eventually successful in frightening the quivering animal from its hollow. It emerges from another entryway some distance from the one he occupies, his ears catching hold of the scuffles accompanying its attempt at escape. This is his precious cue, and he pulls himself away to sprint after his victim. Eyes full of fear, they glint in the moonbeams cast upon the forest floor as he closes in, his longer legs crossing the distance faster than the hare can create it. He places his focus onto its back, never losing sight of it as it darts through the trees. Soon, he is upon its heels, their hearts drums of war. And he claims the thrill of victor as he makes a final lunge, snaring a hind leg in his teeth. 

He shreds the limb in his jaws to prevent any chance of freedom, pinning it beneath his paw as it screams. Moving in for the kill, he gives pause as her calls dance through the air. She has awoken and seeks his company. He raises his voice to the sky, offering a gentle reply, his song low and careful not to challenge the other wolves in nearby territory. Swiftly he takes the life of his prey and carries it with him on his return to her side. 

Dropping it before her, he presents it as a gift. He shares with her the meat, though she does not feast upon the flesh she takes immediately as he does. Her strange ways are curious to him, unlike anything he is capable to understand. Yet, still, his love for her only grows in great measure as time passes. He remains faithfully beside her, it is all he desires for his fate. And he contentedly watches her after their meal together as she delicately scribes her response to the writings on the back of the letter made for her, resting it carefully within the book again when finished. 

Gathering all the things she carries with her as they travel, she then leads him away with her through the final hours of night. As always, she seems to have a destination in mind, a need to be anywhere but wherever they were. As though she sought something she could never find, or fled from something she could not evade. He keeps close, providing as much comfort to her restless spirit as he is able. He prances rings around her, enticing her to play. Nudges her hip, a branch in his grasp, refusing to let her take it as she pulls. He even speaks to her with silly cries and soft noises, prompting her to chime with a sound that he recognizes as joy. But, as the moon begins its fall to hide away behind the horizon, something draws him away from her. A stench that causes his hackles to stand on end, smells of kin to her kind. 

Always, he is nervous of others of her kind, as much as he is of others of his own. He lacks trust for them, and these particular marks left within the undergrowth carry lingering hints of something that upset him further. Aggression, and he tracks their previous movements through the woods, gaining more distaste for them as he discovers blood of their fellow kind. They are a danger to him and to her, and he will not tolerate their threat. He hears her battle cries in the distance, warning those who taunt her to keep their distance. As he was searching for them, deciphering their identity as foe, they had found her. He races back toward where he has left her, intent on protecting her from being taken or harmed by these new found enemies. He knows she is not weak, that she is able to fend off the many beasts he fears losing her to. It changes nothing. To endanger her is to challenge him. And he takes on their challenge with exuberant ferocity as he finds them locked in conflict with her upon his return. 

Lashing at the opponent nearest to her, he seizes the contender by the flesh of the man's throat and rips it apart. The first enemy falls, choking until lifeless. Flashing his fangs with a vehement snarl, he turns to charge the next fiend who dares approach. This challenger fares little better against his fury as it to is taken into his thrashing jaws. Others come rushing him, bent on his elimination and struggling to surround him with allies. But she defends him in turn as they rage in battle, as loyal to his claim of her as he. It inspires yet more desperation to deny their blood-lust until it is all he knows. His mind only thinks on how best to kill and gain triumph over all that seeks to diminish his dominance. Swallowed in his violence, he scarce realizes when the confrontation ends, growling and boasting his power even when all aggressors lay slain. 

Her soft voice soothes him and he quiets his searing hatred for them, pleased to see their treacherous blood stains the ground. She does not seem injured and he nuzzles her affectionately, affirming their bond once more as his instincts direct him. When that is done he encourages her to take step behind him as he wanders away from all scents pertaining to these savage members of her kind. White fur soaked in the red of his opposition, he confidently strides on knowing they should not linger. It is not safe here and he is comforted to hear her follow as he desires. 

They do not get far before she comes to a halt, and he slows, glancing over his shoulder. She stares upward into the sky above and he smells sadness within her. There seems to be a longing as she casts her shining eyes over the horizon toward the East for something she did not believe she could possess. His whimpers bring her back to him and she walks on, her attention far away from where they step. Soon it will be dawn....


End file.
